


Roger Roger

by kittyofnight



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Phone Sex, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sex Worker, Sort Of, by modern I mean 2009 actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:33:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21758356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittyofnight/pseuds/kittyofnight
Summary: “Hey, I’m Roger.  What can I do for you this evening?” Steve asked whoever was on the other end of the line.  He didn’t dive into full on anything right away. Seemed too... much to him, and not everyone was looking for the same thing, even if the key word sorting on the electronic menu before getting to a worker was usually pretty decent.“I’ve never- done something like this before,” he said.  It was a common line, but Steve could hear the truth in the man’s voice, he was pretty sure.  He was good at that.“That’s great.  This is relaxed, whatever you want it to be.  What should I call you?”“Um- Bucky, I guess,” the man answered.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 8
Kudos: 138





	1. Steve

*****Steve*****

“Hey, I’m Roger. What can I do for you this evening?” Steve asked whoever was on the other end of the line. He didn’t dive into full on anything right away. Seemed too... much to him, and not everyone was looking for the same thing, even if the key word sorting on the electronic menu before getting to a worker was usually pretty decent.

“I’ve never- done something like this before,” he said. It was a common line- whether they had or not, but Steve could hear the truth in the man’s voice, he was pretty sure. He was good at that.

“That’s great. This is relaxed, whatever you want it to be. What should I call you?”

“Um- Bucky, I guess,” he answered.

“ _Buck-y_. Sounds like the name of a real _fun_ guy,” Steve played lightly “You a bucking bronco?”

“Yeah, well, didn’t expect an old fashioned British sex slang outta you,” the man snapped back, less nervous sounding. “Most people get that?” he asked, more curious.

“ _I_ didn’t get it until someone told me,” Steve admitted. “Stuck with it anyway, but I’m not good at a British accent. Bloody awful,” he joked.

“Yeah, that is truly horrible,” the man agreed, but Steve could tell he was smiling.

“Want to tell me what you’re thinking for this evening? Maybe what you usually like to do with someone- or alone- or- something you’ve wanted to try?” He wasn’t trying to rush. There were like… stall tactics to make conversations like this go longer, but Steve felt too bad to use them. He didn’t want to charge someone for longer than they wanted to talk.

“I- top- usually- used to- but just want to… lay here and be... taken care of?” the caller asked, nervously. Bucky.

“That’s great, honey,” Steve felt out, gently, “Really great. Are you comfortable in bed?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“No rush but… have you got your pants off yet, Bucky?”

“Yeah,” he said softly, a little tremble. He had a sexy voice.

“Under the covers, or no?” Steve asked, setting the scene more.

“No,” the man said.

“Nice,” Steve said. “I bet you’re quite a wonderful sight, sprawled out like that. Gorgeous. Top off?” he asked.

“No. I- want to keep it on,” the man said.

“Is it soft?” Steve asked. “Anything that feels good against your skin is nice.”

“Yeah, it’s… old, and soft.”

“Then it feels nice against my bare chest, as I’m right behind you, talking softly in your ear. I’ve got sweatpants on, not planning to take them off. Just focused on you,” he said, describing his clothing accurately for the realism factor.

“Sweat pants. You- a big guy?” he asked. “Gym rat?”

“Big enough,” Steve lied confidently. “That your type? Little taller than you, big muscles to protect you?” he asked.

“Not- necessarily,” he answered. “Maybe… tonight. I don’t know.”

“Tonight’s all that matters,” Steve said. It wasn’t late yet. Steve hadn’t even had dinner- which was a mistake because the calls would be picking up. “I start with a gentle touch, on your right thigh. I’m right hand dominant touching myself, and giving attention to my man in front of me is even better, yeah? Ready for a little more? You got some lube in reach?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said.

Steve had known he was on speaker phone already- pretty common for his clients. If he hadn’t, the loud pop of the cap of the lube opening would have told him. Not a pump top, so probably real lube. He could work well with that.

“Put my hand where you want it, Bucky,”

He responded well- to the name and to finally touching himself. It had probably been a while for him. And it probably was a nickname he’d used a lot before, maybe in bed, maybe in regular life.

“Is that nice, Bucky?” he asked again.

He gave a little moan. It was hot. Steve kind of liked the moans that he knew the client didn’t want to make- at least when the client wasn’t repulsive for other reasons. But he liked Bucky already. “Yeah, it’s nice. I’m… it’s nice,” he said softly.

“You have a really great voice,” Steve said honestly.

“I- thanks.”

“You like staying right here, or do you want to try a little more, baby?”

“I could… try more,” he said. Steve still never thought he (Steve) was really any good at this, but people responded. He didn’t really even talk that dirty. Bucky didn’t seem to mind being called honey or baby, but liked ‘Bucky’ better.

“Good, Bucky, good,” Steve coaxed.

“We’re gonna keep doin’ just like this, and also play with your perfect little hole, okay?”

“Maybe,” he whispered.

“You’ll love it. Different today, you wanted a break from topping, yeah? Have you had something up your hole before?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied.

“Perfect. Just a little break, and get some more lube. I like to use my left middle finger. Can you lube it up for me? And then go back to your perfect cock?” Steve instructed. The phrasing practically slipped out, because he was getting… pretty into it. He almost always stayed more... detached during the phone sex parts, or he wouldn’t pull it off well. ‘Cock’ was far past that line.

“I- can’t,” he said.

“Yeah, you can, Bucky. Let me take care of you so good.”

“No my- my left arm got fuckin’ _blown off_ in Afganistan. I’ve- I’ve got a… fuckin’ high tech fake one but don’t want to… not for this. I- I gotta- sorry I should never have-”’

“Hey, don’t go. It’s just me,” Steve said. Which didn’t mean anything. “I’m- really the _least_ intimidating person in the world, I swear. Like a month ago I got carded and had to argue with someone thinking I was under _eighteen_ , and I’m really, really not. I tried to sign up for the army- years ago. I was seventeen in 2001. Convinced my- poor ma to sign off on it, but she must have known they wouldn’t want me. No reason in the world to be afraid of little old me. I’m- 5’4” and under a hundred pounds- and I’ve certainly tried to put on weight. Asthmatic, heart arrhythmia, flat feet- honestly a whole host of other minor things. Always been a bit sickly. But I was always ready for a fight, ready to stand up for what I felt was right even if it meant getting beat up- which it always did as a kid- split lip, black eye, mouthy little punk. Still am, really, but especially then. Thought I knew everything. Stuff looks pretty black and white at that age. I just saw that some evil people attacked my home- New York kid- Brooklyn. And I didn’t think about much else.”

“I’m- from... Brooklyn too.”

“Yeah,” Steve said brightly. “You do sound like it- I wondered, but my ears aren’t all that great, so I don’t trust them for stuff like that. Where abouts?”

“Moved around some. Mostly Crown Heights.”

“Williamsburg. Still live in the same tiny rent controlled apartment my pa was born in.”

“You- do you- work from home? Sorry- none of my business. I should…” the man said.

“My parents died. Years ago. I do work from home, yeah, but I live alone. Not um- exactly something I’d have wanted to explained to Ma, but it’s honest work- like genuinely helpful for more people than you’d expect, and- I’m an artist too…” Steve rambled, because it can be calming to people who are in a crisis. Though he’s never poured out so much of his life story before. “Went to school for it and everything- but that’s not exactly consistent money. I- don’t want to keep you here talking when I’m not really… you know, doing anything for you. And I’ll- definitely put in a discount code for you for this. I just… didn’t want you to leave feeling… like there was anything wrong with you. Everyone has their own stuff going on.”

“You don’t know me. Was a sniper. Really, really good at killing people. And now I’ve got that expensive fancy prosthetic, because the government wants me to keep on doing it.”

“Well, you were… under orders. I- I’m sure I would have done the same thing. And I- certainly hope those people really deserved it- as much as anyone can, but it’s not your fault if they didn’t, and now you’re out, yeah? And- you don’t have to go back to them if you think they’ll ask you to do things you don’t agree with. Even if it means they could take back your- prosthetic, which seems really shitty, but there’s nothing wrong with having one arm.”

“Wouldn’t have’ta give the arm back. Stark made sure that I didn’t owe them anything, even though they were the ones who approached him. He’s been in and out with the government himself.” Tony Stark- or at least Stark Industries- made him an arm.

“Are you back in New York now? You don’t have to answer that. I just thought with um- Stark Industries being here and all. I mean I wouldn’t like- sorry, you _really_ don’t have to answer that.”

“Queens,” he answered.

“That’s cool- right next door to Williamsburg. Not that I would like- try to find you or anything- not that I wouldn’t _want_ to meet you- but I wouldn’t like try to- man, I swear I’m not usually this terrible at talking on the phone.” Steve hadn’t floundered this much since his first week on the job. And really, he’d dealt with what seemed like more difficult situations than this- though he would never try to quantitatively compare one person’s trauma to another’s.

“You seemed pretty good at it earlier,” Bucky said.

“Ah- thanks. I- did you want to get back to it? Real slow?”

“Back to getting off the disabled veteran instead of being a hell of a lot better than my therapist?”

“Thanks. But- if you want, yeah. Also, totally understand not wanting to use it for this but- I mean, if that arm was designed by Tony Stark, I’m pretty sure it’s totally safe to stick anywhere- like that’s probably high on his list of priorities. I’m sure he’s done all _sorts_ of things with the Iron Man suit. But you don’t need it. Don’t need anything up there at all, but it can be nice. Do you have a dildo? Or a little plug?” Steve suggested. If Bucky could accomplish what he’d wanted out of the call… which was probably an orgasm… he’d probably feel better. Lots of guys with PTSD had ED issues.

“No,” Bucky answered.

“You might like one, maybe just a little plug. Even if you mostly want to top, it can feel nice being filled, working up to hours if you like,” Steve described. Because it was sometimes something people liked to hear about, even if they were afraid to try it. Maybe especially if they were afraid. “Can be a little distracting something as you go about your day, it you’re looking for that. Riding in the subway and no one knows you’ve got a nice little stopper in your hole, clenching down around it whenever you want.” Something to ground him.

“I- I think I would like that. I just- as alluring as your voice is, as nice of a guy as you are. I really couldn’t get it up again tonight.”

“That’s okay. Totally understandable. You have a plan for the rest of the evening?” he asked. It was a thing he did with people, help them make a plan for the rest of the evening, if they were the talking sort of person..

“No,” he said.

“Maybe- after you hang up- some tv- something nice- a good movie or some sports if you like. I like baseball. Is there food at your place?”

“Yeah, yeah. Ordered a pizza yesterday.”

“Yeah? Where from?”

“Gianni’s.”

“Yeah?” Steve smiled. “I love that place. Great to finish that then. I- well, actually if you ask to add on the Rogers Special, that’s code for a ten percent discount on anything you get. I- know the owner through art stuff. He’s real nice. Puts… some of my stuff on his walls, if you ever- go by there. You know there’s lots of grocery deliveries now- if you want something fresh on a day you don’t want to leave.”

“I- get out most days just fine. I’m not… I mean, I’ve got problems but… not like going places and seeing people usually... You said- this is more helpful for more people than I’d expect,” Bucky said softly. “What- what’s eating at them? If I can-” he stopped. “Ask.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I get- mostly guys. A lot of guys who are… trying to figure out if they’re gay- or who know they are but are too- well, not ready to say it in person. Some people wanting companionship but not ready to date after a major relationship. Some who are struggling with erectile dysfunction. Some wheelchair bound, or with another perceived limitation. Those with HIV or AIDS and afraid to be with anyone to spread it. I can usually help them a lot. The keywords ‘just want to talk’ come to me a lot, so I get a lot of different stuff. Sometimes I get straight guys who end up talking anyway- just talking, usually. Sometimes women- I _really_ don’t like having like phone sex with women- I’ll pass them off the moment anyone’s line is free, but talking is fine. The only time I’ve straight up hung up on a woman was one who wanted to _seduce the gay away_ \- that was awful- though not as bad as some guys I’ve hung up on- though I try to talk to them first. Not that men are necessarily worse than women, I just get mostly men. I- helped a woman leave an abusive relationship once. She even called back to follow-up when she had a new place. I voided that call, because I really, really couldn’t charge for that. I’m really not qualified for any of this. In most ways it’s easier when some guy just wants to role play this new kink he’s found online that he thinks will scare away the guys at bars. But- just meant to say that everyone’s got their own stuff going on.”

“Thanks… Roger,” Bucky said.

“I’m Steve. Rogers is my last name.”

“Pretty sure you’re _really_ not supposed to say any of that for lots of reasons. First among them if you believe me is that I’ve already… ah- indicated that I’m pretty damn good at killing people. But what the hell- people do call me Bucky- I guess it’s more my name than my legal one. I’m thinking you’re crazier than I am.”

“Pretty sure you’d have no reason to want to kill me, so I’m not worried. I’m super non-threatening. Blond and blue eyed and always look a few years younger than I am. Basically a puppy in human form. Which I fought for over two decades before accepting, but such is life. You going to be okay tonight?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, I don’t… feel down. Better than a lot of times. And like I’m never... I’m mostly just- overwhelmed more than anything, sometimes.”

“I hope you have a good night. Enjoy that pizza.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Don’t give me a discount on the call. I can afford it, and seriously- more helpful than… lots of stuff. Steve,” Bucky added his name.

“Thanks,” Steve said. When neither said anything for a few seconds, Steve added. “I can stay as long as you want. And talk if you want, or sit in silence and just breathe. You’d be surprised how long I’ve done that before. Just hang up whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said, and hung up.


	2. Bucky

*****Bucky*****

“Hey, can I get you something? Some water? Slice of pizza? Hotdog?” a voice beside him a bit away asked.

He had been sitting on the ground, curled up, arms hidden under his knees- arm and fake arm. It had felt like a good day to leave the house during the day instead of waiting till after dark. Go to a place he’d enjoyed as a kid. It was wonderful. But so loud. So many people. Too loud, too many people. Even though he... _liked_ people. Liked strangers.

Bucky looked over. Just out of arms’ reach, but close. The kid looked maybe twenty, maybe. Skinny, short, even sitting, huge eyes, smiling pleasantly, like he did this all the time. And that gentle, earnest but not pitying voice was catching up to him. “No fucking way,” he whispered.

The guy looked even more concerned, and didn’t back away.

Bucky had on a jacket and gloves, even though it was too warm for it.

He took off the glove over his fake hand, because it was easier than asking if the kid- who maybe wasn’t a kid- was named Steve Rogers.

“Bucky,” he said, just a second later, smiling exceptionally widely. He'd remembered Bucky's name. “I’d still like to buy you lunch- or funnel cake if you’ve had lunch already?”

“Do you often sit down next to people who look crazy and homeless then?” Bucky asked.

“I wouldn’t use those descriptions, but I sit down next to a lot of people. If I’m here- which I’m here on a lot of nice days- I talk, buy them food sometimes, and draw them, or their dog if they have one- that gets the biggest smile. I come down to enjoy the place and do sketches- for money usually, but lots of exceptions. Mostly caricatures, because that’s what people expect at a place like Coney Island.”

“You’re too perfect to exist in this world,” Bucky said, and it sounds creepy afterwards. Really creepy.

“I mean- you know one of my main incomes is. I’m _really_ not some sweet innocent guy. I’ve gone along with lots of things that would probably make you blush- disgust you, even.”

“Don’t have to be innocent to be sweet,” Bucky told him.

“Thanks,” Steve said. He was beautiful. Just like Steve had described himself, but perfect. Definitely _not_ the least intimidating person on the planet, because he was far too beautiful for that. But he’d already seen and heard Bucky on two bad days, and he was smiling brightly, and a little shyly, cheeks red like he’d… like he’d asked Bucky on a date. When Bucky had just been curled up on the ground trying to insulate himself from the world. But he hardly felt the urge to do that now at all.

“There’s a- bench over there in the shade,” Bucky said.

“Sounds great. I love the sun, but burn pretty easy.”

“On your list of minor maladies?” Bucky asked.

Steve laughed, “Too minor to make the list,” he said. “You want the list?” he asked.

That seemed pretty personal, so of course he wanted it. He was no selfless fool. “If you don’t mind giving it,” he said casually.

“If you let me buy you lunch,” Steve countered. Even though he had the looks that dozens of men should be lining up for the honor of buying him a meal, he was the sort to want to take turns paying, or treat the other guy more often, Bucky had decided.

“A buck slice- I’m a pretty cheap date,” he teased. Somehow the sight of this kid and he was having a good day. Kid. Only two years younger than him or less, for all that he looked more eighteen than twenty-five.

Stevie blushed brighter, “I’d say you’re more handsome than pretty,” but his voice was smooth and even, offering Bucky a hand to help him up.

“Damn, that was good,” Bucky said. Or, at least it was the sort of line Bucky liked. Just on the other side of corny. Perfect. “I’m out of practice,” Bucky admitted.

“I’ve literally _never_ practiced,” Steve said back. “Well, not in person.”

Bucky’s mouth dropped open stupidly. “You realize that you could pick up- literally any gay guy you wanted, right? You seemed to have looked in a mirror a few times in the last… I don’t know how long you’ve looked like this. But it’s a good look. Surely you know that?” Bucky said, sprawled on the bench now.

“I’m aware that my… physical features fit a certain profile… a _twink…_ but my personality doesn’t,” Steve said, measuredly. “Save our space and I’ll get us some pizza?” Steve asked, walking for the vendor. “Cheese or pepperoni?” he asked.

“Cheese,” Bucky answered.

The man was inhumanly gorgeous, incredibly kind, and definitely flirting with Bucky.

“To drink?” Steve prompted.

“I have a water bottle,” Bucky said, holding up the too-fancy metal thermos his sister had given him..

“So just your two slices then,” Steve said, walking off. Of course Steve wanted to make sure he got enough to eat. He was a nurturing soul.

Steve came back with two slices each, all cheese, and a lemonade for himself, though he offered a taste, which of course Bucky accepted. Straw sharing was like elementary school kissing, and a lifetime ago, he’d been very good at that.

“Could go get you one,” Steve mentioned.

“Wouldn’t taste as good as yours,” Bucky answered back. “I believe I was promised a list.”

Steve laughed, “Okay so, I’ve mentioned what- asmatic, heart arrhythmia, flat feet- those are all big military rejections. Hearing isn’t great, eyesight is atrocious- near-sighted with astigmatism, _thank you contacts_ . My glasses as a kid were enormous and always getting broken, so I’d secretly not wear them to school sometimes, which defeated the whole point. Slightly colorblind- enough to fail the hardest questions on those colorblind tests. Minor, I think, but I hate it worse than everything else, wondering if I’m _missing_ something, wondering if my art suffers for it. Ah, scoliosis, or I’d be about an inch taller- not that it would matter. Digestive stuff- like my body decides to just ignore some of the calories I feed it, which is quite rude when I’m trying to _not_ be a stick. Acid reflux, and some stomach ulcers from that before I knew what was going on. Anemic. Allergic to… too many things- mostly pollen and dust, and most animal dander- which is awful, because I love cats and dogs- thought about getting allergy shots for that, but it’s expensive. Maybe someday, and there are some dogs that don’t bother me. Tree nuts, but it’s a minor allergy and I’ll push it sometimes because I like most of them. Mangoes I don’t like much so avoid anyway. MSG give me headaches. The doctors thought I had celiacs for a while- thank the Lord I don’t, though didn’t solve whatever digestive thing I _do_ have, but it’s not that bad. That’s it, I think. Nothing life threatening. I can’t complain too bad. Ah- immune system isn’t great, I guess- can get knocked down pretty bad by a little bug- and prone to bronchitis and pneumonia. But like… I’m fine,” he shrugged as he tacked on serious medical issues as an afterthought.

“You’re also the nicest human being alive. I was- near fetal position trying not to slip into a panic attack, and now I want to… go on a ferris wheel.”

“If you think you wouldn’t regret that decision at the top, I’d love to go on the _Wonder Wheel_ with you,” Steve said.

“Not afraid of heights. I mean, it helps that I’m- reasonably sure I could jump from that height and be unharmed,” he admitted carefully. “And take you with me.”

“Uh… that’s higher than it maybe looks to you?” Steve said carefully. Like he wasn’t trying to accuse Bucky of being crazy.

“So... I nearly died yeah, big explosion that took my arm. I’m _not_ dead because I ended up in a place with some experimental shit going down. Bada bing bada boom- stronger, faster… less fragile, and heal quicker from what does get me. And different government agencies wanting me- which got me the new arm- which I really do like most of the time. I could…” he looked around, “Break something tough that isn’t expensive. Or lift something heavy… not the bench, because it’s bolted and I don’t want to break it. I mean we’re not talking quite Captain America level enhanced- though the group was trying for that. I couldn’t toss a car onto a bad guy a hundred yards away, but I could lift a car if needed, maybe toss it a bit... I’m considered a moderate success. And I do like it.”

“Okay...for the record- if they’re looking for volunteers, I’d sign up in a heartbeat,” Steve said with serious eyes.

“As far as I can tell, they’ve only tried it on half-dead soldiers, but the dozen before me died of shock before their injuries got them. So… forgive me for not throwing your name in there at the moment. And they got sort of uncovered after I _didn’t_ die, so a lot of people were arrested and someone else owns the research now- not sure what they’re doing with it. I mean- not going to lie, I enjoy my results. Most days, I think... the almost dying was worth it. I like the strength, and I’ll go hours not even remembering this arm’s fake. Stark’s damned good. Usually wish I had never signed up to begin with. I was just a nineteen year old moving boxes for a living, but I’d always been good at those shooting games,” he said, waving his hand around where they both probably knew those stands were.

“Sleeping okay?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. I mean, I still take the sleeping pills they give me. And an antidepressant. I passed psych clearance- so I’m not a danger to myself or others, at least according to a few different departments of the US government. I’m supposed to go out and meet new people. Because my greatest deficiencies are social. Which means they clearly haven’t talked to my mother. I’ve always been charming and agreeable- when I want to be.”

“You met me,” Steve said. As if they weren’t the weirdest interaction ever.

“I... sort of told my therapist about you- except you were a guy I started talking to on Tinder named Roger. Which- it’s… in my _file_ now that I’m gay- which it never was before with it all ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ even though my unit always knew. And- SHIELD says that policy will be gone in the next year… which like- you didn’t hear any word of that sentence from me, but it was good to hear.”

“Yeah, really good,” Steve agreed. “So, you mentioned your mom. Family in the city?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. Mom lives in Brooklyn- Crown Heights, with her mother. Little sister, Becca, is a senior at NYU. Architecture major. You’d have good conversations, I’m sure. She’s got a sixth month internship- paid- lined up after graduation, and if they’ve got any sense, they’ll hire her afterwards. Other grandmother lives in Jersey in a nursing home. I don’t visit as much as I should. Becca’s better about it, and my mom- mom’s a saint. She’d like you. Dad’s in Seattle, high powered job moved him out there. We- keep in touch- love him and stuff, I guess, even though he’s a shithead, and they’re divorced because he kept cheating on my mom. He sends money to all of us when he feels guilty. I pass it on to Mom, and she pretends not to take it. But Becca doesn’t have any college debt because of him.”

“That’s good,” Steve said. “Wonder Wheel?” he prompted.

“I’m takin’ you away from your work,” Bucky objected.

“Not exactly a nine to five,” Steve shrugged.

Bucky grabbed his wallet and fished out a twenty, holding it out. “Draw something for me?” he asked.

“That’s too much for one picture. I didn’t even bring colors, just black marker sketches today.”

“Do me a couple then?” Bucky asked. “One of something you see from the top of the ferris wheel,” Bucky says. “Which I’ll naturally cover as a business expense,” he said.

“Okay,” Steve agreed, smiling.

Steve ends up sitting sideways on the little Ferris wheel bench, facing Bucky. It only worried him slightly, so Bucky kept hold of his ankle in one hand, and the seat with the other.

“Sure you’re okay with heights?” Steve asked after it was too late anyway.

“I’m allowed to worry for _other_ people. Shows that I’m not a sociopath.”

Steve handed him the drawing when they were down. His profile, not quite a caricature but cartoonish broad strokes, and the beach in the background behind them. Obviously an idealized version because there were no people on it.

Steve was already working on another as they found another bench.

Bucky was comfortable in the silence as Steve worked. He didn’t really know how long it took. Steve was even cuter when concentrating, best when he was happy with what he was doing. Steve was nervous when he handed this one over, red on his pale cheeks.

Bucky’s throat tightened when he instantly saw why.

Overly square jaw, emphasized lips, heavy eyebrows. A _kind_ caricature, and Steve next to him, tucked under an arm, the picture cutting out just below Steve’s shoulder. Sketch of the ferris wheel floating in the top left corner, a bench in the top right, pizza in the bottom left, and his phone number in the bottom right.

“Not very professional of me,” Steve said.

“You are damned smooth, Steve Rogers. You want this? A real date?”

“Yeah. I do. If you- can deal with my life. I don’t- I’m not romantically interested in my clients. Emotionally invested sometimes but… I mean, I could look for another job. Never intended to do this that long.”

“Maybe diving in a bit fast, Steve. Don’t want you hurt if I mess up. We did- you know, officially meet less than an hour ago when I was sitting on the ground, yeah? I’m ah- James Buchanan Barnes- the Bucky comes from Buchanan. My dad is also James, so I never went by that. Mom’s name is Mary,” he said, because it was another thing that it seemed like someone he was going to date should know. “Wouldn’t ask you to quit your job. You’re damned good at art, and it’s a shame you haven’t found something that makes enough with that, but wouldn’t ask you to change. You’re… dealing with my life, I can deal with yours. Does seem to push us more towards lunch dates than dinner, but that’s alright. I’m in this here… transitional period on the government’s dime.”

“That’s good,” Steve said.

“Think you can keep that flat for me in your book until we’re done? You might have to add more to the picture,” Bucky said, offering the picture and his hand.

“Yeah, I can do that.” Steve scrambled to accept the picture, put it up, and take Bucky’s hand.

“Come on, want to see if someone still works here,” Bucky said.

“Corporal _Bucky Barnes_!” a voice shouted. “Come to rob me of everything in my stall?” he asked.

“It’s Sergeant now, you worthless carny,” Bucky shot back.

The man laughed. “And you’ve got a _friend_ ,” he said. “Art boy. He’s here almost as much as you used to be. Well, not _here_ specifically, but around. Looks like someone your baby sister would have tried to snag. You want to tell her you’ve got similar tastes?”

“Been a few years. Becca’s on a bad boy phase now. Last guy she brought home to mama had more metal in his face than I have as my arm,” Bucky said, taking his hand out of his pocket and waving it. He liked the arm, but he didn’t always like the stares. But this was different. They practically had a routine, even if this was a new, unrehearsed act.

“Oh _shit_ , Buck. Can you still shoot?” he asked, like it was the most important thing in the world. And when he was a nineteen year old coming here most days, it would have been true. And Bucky had come a few times after his first tour, and not too much had changed then.

“And art boy’s name is Steve, and he’s not as young as he looks, and Steve, this ancient carny’s name is Jason.” Jason was probably only forty.

“You still got it, Bucky?” the man asked quietly. “I won’t call them around if you’re not sure.”

“Yeah, yeah, go on. I still got it. Make your money off the masses, because you won’t make it off me, old man,” Bucky said. “Steve, see something you like?” he asked, jerking his head at the prizes.

“Is it too corny if I say _you_?” Steve shot back.

Jason gave a loud ‘whooop.’

“I don’t mind a bit of corny,” Bucky said. And with Steve’s smile, Bucky slipped off his jacket and tossed it at Steve, leaving him in just a plain white short-sleeved undershirt. So they couldn’t see the mess of his shoulder, but just about all of his arm was on display. Jason whistled. “But I’d like you to pick a prize- if you wanted.”

“I’ll take a bear. And not one that’s so big that I feel small.”

“Geniune home town _hero_ returned to his roots to show us all _how it’s done_ . Do _you_ think you can shoot against the steadiest arm in the eastern seaboard?”

“You mean in the whole damned world,” Bucky corrected. “I think I’ve earned one practice shot,” Bucky said. Loudly, playing for the growing crowd. The people didn’t bother him when he was asking for the attention. It felt pretty damn good.

“Everyone gets a practice shot at my stall,” he boasted loudly. “But, I don’t know. Is that fancy new arm there and unfair advantage?”

“I could ask Tony Stark if he could make you one. Have to lose the flesh one first though,” Bucky said easily. “You changed your setup lately?” he asked, in a more normal tone.

“Nah. Might have to just for you. Just don’t shoot the puppy dogs.”

“Yeah, yeah, start up the ducks,” Bucky said.

He slapped a dollar on the table, and picked up the gun. It brought back thoughts of childhood, bringing Becca here, not thoughts of war. It was so light.

“One practice shot,” Jason said. But Bucky knew how it worked. There was one more shot than targets. “My gift to you all because I’m such a fair minded man.”

Bucky took his first shot, right where he knew it would go.

“Start it up, old carny,” he instructed.

Bucky hit them all. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. He’d done it at thirteen. If he didn’t already know what would be a duck, and what a dog, he hoped he could have still done it right.

“Double or nothing and I get the bear,” he said, slapping down another.

“Which bear?” Jason asked.

Bucky glanced over at Steve.

“Your choice,” Steve said easily.

“The brown one,” Bucky pointed with his new hand.

“Five paces back, if you’re so confident,” Jason prodded. It was another line of their routine.

“Ten,” Bucky raised, like he had for years. It would block most of the lane, but no one was trying to pass now. They rarely had before he was even such a spectacle in himself.

Bucky had always like Jason’s booth best, because it wasn’t actually rigged, just damn hard.

Bucky still beat it easily. He put the toy gun down.

“Bear,” he said, metal hand again outstretched.

“Good to see you, kid. Take care of yourself. Or let art boy do it for you,” Jason murmured when he handed over the bear.

“Little early for that sort of talk, but I’ll be alright,” he said.

He was only a little embarrassed as he handed Steve the bear that the crowd cheered for him.

“Give him a kiss!” one female voice shouted.

Bucky gave his best smirk and took one of Steve’s hands, bringing it to his lips in a kiss. Steve was bright red. Yeah, definitely going on the sketch. And he’d be using that number.


	3. Steve

*****Steve*****

Steve opened his eyes, and everything was unbearably bright and oddly loud. Like getting a new contact prescription but... more.

“You’re awake,” Bucky said, from a chair next to him, clutching Steve’s brown bear. He looked like hell. Red-eyed with dark circles under them. “Do you know your name? My name? Who’s the president?” Bucky asked, rapid-fire. Bucky was there. They’d seen a lot of each other in the last few weeks. Dating. He had a boyfriend. He was… in bed… sick?

“Maybe let him answer?” another voice said. Steve looked over. That was Tony Stark.

“I’m Steve,” Steve got out through a terribly dry mouth, but nothing actually hurt. Bucky stood and fumbled a cup, and poured water with shaky hands. “You’re Bucky. Barack Obama is the president,” Steve answered in order before Bucky had the water ready.

“That’s good,” Stark said. Bucky held the cup for him, his warm flesh hand at the back of Steve’s neck and head, propping him up a bit more. “Your heart stopped working on its own for over half an hour a couple times. Even with machines doing it for you for _most_ of the time, we worried for your brain a bit. Doesn’t seem like cause to worry though,” he said brightly. “You could sue him if you want. You don’t have a medical proxy on any file. Barnes grossly abused power to get you here. But you’d have died a week ago if he hadn’t.”

“Is Tony Stark a medical doctor now?” Steve asked Bucky. A little joke to go with the overwhelming everything.

“My dear old dad was part of the original Rebirth project in the forties. Found some of his notes when going through his things. Barnes made saving you his condition for joining the merry band of misfits, and I’m here because I love a challenge.”

“I got injected with- was it what saved you?” Steve asked, finally looking at himself. “My- hand is bigger,” he said. “And even bonier.”

“Something similar to what I got, at least. You had more that it... decided it could fix- because arms weren’t included, apparently. You grew about six inches in front of us, a bit more overtime, maybe more to do. It sort of stretched you as far as you could go. They- had to put you under for the pain. And you’re already putting on weight just from what they’re pumping into you. So, you look like skin and bones now, but it was a hell of a lot worse at first, and they say you’ll get better.”

“You were positively _skeletal_ ,” Tony Stark put in. “But we think you’ll end up more enhanced than Barnes. They’ll start harassing you to join the _crew_ before you can even get out of bed.”

“You don’t owe them anything,” Bucky said firmly.

“You don’t, but he does, and the job does pay well. And not a lot of hours time commitment, so you can choose to continue- or not continue previous non-traditional employments,” he said.

“Nosy bastard,” Bucky grumbled.

“Hey, I didn’t even call. That’s very restrained by my standards,” the millionaire- or probably actually billionaire said. “And by call, I definitely mean the suicide hotline he volunteers for, and not anything else he may or may not do on the phone. Of course, I wouldn’t take up valuable time when I haven’t seriously considered suicide except during the whole capture and torture thing.”

“Looking for sympathy from the wrong time and person, Stark,” Bucky commented.

“Not _you_. What if I want your _man_ to like me?” Stark asked.

“Steve’s _perfect_. He likes nearly everyone,” Bucky said, still looking at Steve intensely even as he talked to Tony Stark.

“I had… bronchitis? Pneumonia?” Steve said, still trying to piece together it all.

“Oh, both, and more,” Tony said. Steve decided he could call him Tony in his head if he was clearly friends with Bucky. “You stopped breathing _a lot_. Shouldn’t be a problem anymore. We think. Brave new world,” Tony said. “You don’t have any allergies. No stomach ulcers. They’ll want to test your hearing and vision, but I’d bet it’s perfect.”

That really hit for him.

“Do I- have contacts in?” Steve asked, smiling at Bucky.

“No, Steve,” he answered.

“It’s amazing,” Steve answered, looking at everything. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Bucky,” he said. He was itching to get his hands on his acrylics or pastels. Or maybe start investing in oils if he could manage.

“You could have died,” he croaked.

“Sounds like I _was_ going to die without you,” Steve replied.

“You were,” Tony Stark pitched in. “Lovely to meet you, by the way, really. You know, I’m deprived of so many proper introductions by people already knowing my name. Though, in this case, I did know yours as well.”

“Steve, Tony. Tony, Steve,” Bucky said a bit tersely, but he was smiling.

“I’ve got a lot of experience fighting,” Steve joked, looking straight at Bucky. He probably looked a lot worse than Bucky did, like he was going to keel over any second, his body stretched too thin because it couldn’t spontaneously make more matter inside him. But he felt strong. “Not a lot of experience winning. But, seems to me that you saved my life, so I should keep an eye on yours.”

“I shouldn’t be selfish enough to let you.”

“I don’t think _let_ is the right word. I’m pretty damned stubborn,” Steve promised.

“Oh, you’re both too adorable,” Tony said.

When Director Fury stopped in his room after Steve ate a real meal, Bucky scowled at the man.

“I’ll go wherever he does,” Steve promised before the man even said anything. Director Fury nodded.

“You haven’t even stood up yet,” Bucky whined. “You don’t have any training.”

“You’ll help me,” Steve said confidently. And Bucky would. Whether it was walking to the bathroom to piss in an hour, or weapons and hand to hand combat training in the months to come. 

Tony Stark claimed he (Tony) wasn’t part of this team- that now included Steve and Bucky, and Clint, and Natasha, and the latter two kept up just fine without super powers, as far as Steve could tell. They were experienced SHIELD agents with mysterious pasts. Natasha was particularly terrifying. But Tony seemed to always be around anyway- to check on his investment in the supersoldiers, he said. Tony maintained that he couldn’t be any part of making more if they didn’t let him observe and make sure nothing would go wrong. And training with them helped him know what to improve in his suit. Steve thought that the billionaire had just made some friends and enjoyed that. Tony worked sometimes in a lab with Bruce, a shy man that Steve knew sometimes turned into a giant angry green monster. He was sort of on the team too, but very hesitant to use ‘the green guy’. Steve hoped that maybe he could help Bruce sometime, talking about stuff.

Steve never officially quit the… sex phone line. Bucky certainly never asked him to. And Steve didn’t think anyone else besides Tony had found out. They all sort of treated him like he was an innocent kid sometimes, and Steve kind of liked it. He sort of just stopped scheduling shifts after his first paycheck from SHIELD came in, which was before he even left the medical ward, and he’d been away from it then too, of course. He’d felt weird about it after he started dating Bucky anyway, even though Bucky said he didn’t mind, and he never seemed to. But, Steve’s evenings were freer now, and he didn’t need the money. Steve always felt more helpful with the talking bits, even if he was more afraid of messing up. But, with the extra time and money, outside of the training time, he started taking a few college classes online, psychology and social work, and spent more hours volunteering with the depression hotline. He had an interesting background for it.

SHIELD had tried to get either of Steve or Bucky to take on the name Captain America, the first enhanced super soldier from back in the 1940s. Because apparently that was what Steve was now, sort of.

Steve refused saying he didn’t deserve the title. He’d never been a soldier, never fought in a war. Maybe he’d feel like he earned it after a long time with SHIELD, but maybe he wouldn’t. Certainly not now, even after their first public battle with a super villain.

Bucky had refused saying that anyone could just call him Bucky. He was never going to have a secret identity. He had a _metal arm_ \- not exactly covert, and he wasn’t going to wear jackets and gloves in the summer all the time. He could have worn the costume they suggested, and no one might even learn about the arm, but he refused that too- after talking it all over with Steve. Steve was fully in support of him not hiding. And, since Steve wasn’t going to stop dating Bucky publicly, Steve said there wasn’t much point in him having a secret identity either. It wasn’t hard to figure out that the other tall buff guy on the team was the same tall buff guy that Bucky was dating. _Steve_ was a tall buff guy now. He poured on muscle with everything he ate for weeks. _Steve Rogers_ was a tall buff guy. That was weird. Bucky treated him exactly the same. And Steve didn’t have any family to endanger by his identity being known. SHIELD (mostly Tony Stark, Steve knew) had protective measures in place for Bucky’s. And Bucky’s family really _liked_ Steve.

Life was good.

**Author's Note:**

> It will stay a fairly mild explicit, but I was wavering between mature and explicit and wanted to be careful.


End file.
